


Poison

by GoldScribbles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Love Potion/Spell, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldScribbles/pseuds/GoldScribbles
Summary: The half-life of love is forever.





	Poison

**Author's Note:**

> My couple is Tristan and Isolde from the Medieval love story where the loyal knight of a king is sent to fetch the new queen-to-be. Somewhere along the journey, they both drink a love potion and fall in love with each other. Tragedy ensues. Thank you to my beta Erika for looking this story over.

**xxx**

“Headmistress McGonagall, I don’t think this is a good use of our limited resources,” Hermione says, wringing her hands together. “Only a third of the castle is functional right now and to divert our energies to plan for a ball is—”

“I’m well aware of how much of a strain this will be, Miss Granger. However, the castle is not the only thing in need of mending. I believe I spoke on this very topic at the welcome feast, or were you not paying attention?"

“It’s just...unprecedented,” Hermione sputters, shrinking at the disapproval in McGonagall’s pursed lips.

“So is having Eighth Year students, yet here you are.” Her eyes flick over to the person behind her. “Here both of you are, as Head Boy and Girl no less.” McGonagall smoothes her hands down her robes, and turns toward the door “If you are finished questioning my judgment, I’ll leave you both to planning the event with civility and good faith. Curfew is in a few hours so be mindful of the time.”

McGonagall leaves, closing the door behind her with a cruel firmness that echoes through the silent room. Hermione digs her nails into her palms to stop her body from trembling as she turns to Malfoy. He looks at her with a neutral expression. It’s different from the sneer she’s used to seeing on his face whenever she was around, but it still makes her feel unwanted and unworthy. She clenches her jaw and reaches for her quill. “Right. Let’s get started.”

The silence remains unbroken as she stares at the blank parchment in front of her. Hermione is too aware of Malfoy to concentrate on the task at hand and it’s irritating. _He’s_ irritating. When he stands, chair scratching against the stone floor, her head shoots up. She’s about to demand where he was going, only to see him pick up two mugs on butterbeer from the snack table in the corner table of the room and place one in front of her. It’s a peace offering. She knows this, yet it galls her to even think of thanking him. Instead, she takes the tiniest sip before focusing back on the parchment, seeing Malfoy sit back down in her peripherals. She holds her tongue against saying how she’d appreciate it more if he actually helped instead of mimic a statue, but only because she’s not sure if it’d be true.

“Manners, Granger.”

Hermione nearly snaps the quill at his grating, condescending tone. “I must’ve left them on your living room floor,” she bites back, glaring at him. His face is unmoving, but now he radiates a coldness perfectly fitting of his pointy, aristocratic features. The delicate equilibrium in the room breaks at her words. She’s not sorry.

“Is that conflict I’m sensing?” a voice warbles from the ceiling. They both look up to see Peeves resting on the chandelier above the table wagging his finger at them. “Tut, tut, tut! From the top students no less. What will the new Headmistress say? After her talk about community and forgiveness and blah, blah, _barf_!”

“Go away, Peeves.” She keeps her eyes trained on the trickster spirit. Malfoy laughs, drawing Hermione’s incredulous glare at him. “You find this funny?”

“I do. It’s all rubbish. The ball, that speech about forgiveness. What rot.”

“You’re _Head Boy_!”

“You’re Head Girl, and you’re making no effort at all to do what McGonagall said.” His eyes narrow with contempt. “What a liar.”

“Says the _Death Eater_,” Hermione snarls.

“My, oh my! What fiery debate. I’m definitely seeing _sparks_.”

Hermione looks up to see Peeves lighting up fireworks with a maniacal grin. He catches her wide-eyed stare and winks. Hermione and Malfoy duck underneath the table as the fireworks burst in a shower of lights and smoke.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts!” Peeves cheers, rattling the table as he zooms by.

The fireworks lasts no more than a minute. By the time they emerge, Peeves is nowhere in sight. They cough at the lingering smoke in the air. Scorch marks litter the table and floor. The parchment is riddled with burnt holes.

“Let’s do this some other time,” Hermione sighs wearily, reaching for her mug and bringing it to her lips.

“Looking forward to it. Cheers to this farce,” Malfoy raises his glass at her before gulping down his butterbeer as though he wished it were firewhiskey.

Hermione rolls her eyes as she swallows the sweet drink. The warmth melts the tension from her body. She sighs, savoring the taste as it coats her tongue. Closing her eyes, she tips the mug and finishes the butterbeer. There’s something different about it. A new recipe perhaps? The flavors were deeper, infused with something intoxicating. A hint of good tea, the smell of expensive cologne, and something else she can’t describe. Opening here eyes, she looks over at Malfoy and feels her world tilt.

His stunned expression mirrors the feeling inside her as her resentments slowly fade to be replaced by awe. Hermione grapples with the sudden shift, unable to look away from his wintry gaze. She swallows tightly, and the lingering taste of her drink causes her eyes to widen. Of course. It occurs to her too late, but she needs answers all the same.

“What did you do?” Her words are breathy and soft, and she can see him react physically to the sound of her voice.

“Granger,” he says, causing goosebumps to rise across her skin, “what is happening?”

“Amortentia. You put it in the butterbeer.”

He grips the edge of the table, as if to anchor himself to the seat. “That’s absurd. I did no such thing. Why would I do that?”

“To have control over me? Make me a laughing stock?”

Malfoy rises to his feet abruptly and stomps around the table. Hermione turns in her seat to face him head on, chin lifted and heart pounding at having him so close. He stops in front of her and leans down, gripping the arms of her chair, caging her in her seat. “If that were true, then why would I slip myself that potion?” His breath smells of butterbeer and fine tea. Hermione fists her robes to keep from touching him. “And if it is indeed Amortentia, are you then accusing us of secretly pining after each other for years?”

“Of course not!” she denies. “I love Ron.” It feels like a lie, and she hates this potion even more. Hates how it makes her feel bad when Malfoy flinches back, straightening up and creating space between them. Hates that she misses him already.

“And I certainly don’t want you,” he says cruelly. It cracks something open inside her, leaving her wounded and desperate. She stands up, closing the distance between them until their clothes brush with every inhale. His eyes are storm-cloud grey, thundering with anger. “This is utter madness.”

“A cruel joke,” she agrees, tilting her chin up at him, watching with hooded eyes as he lowers his head towards her.

_Wait_.

They both reach the same conclusion at the same time, dispelling the electric moment between them.

“_Peeves_,” Hermione gasps.

“That rotten wanker spiked our drink when we were distracted.”

“Did someone call my name?” Peeves croons as he floats back into the room, leering at them. “I wanted to give you both some privacy, but if you require an audience, I am happy to be of service.”

“Why did you do this?” Malfoy takes a threatening step towards the poltergeist.

“Where did you get your hands on Amortentia?” Hermione demands.

Peeves spins through the air gleefully “I brewed it myself! Read the recipe and all!” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, “I didn’t follow it entirely, and substituted this for that, but it seems to be working _perfectly_.”

Horrified, Hermione wonders just what they actually consumed.

“And as for why I did it, it was for Hogwarts!” he cheers, hands and legs thrown out in celebration. “The new Headmistress demanded it. _Unity_ and _love_ to mend the world. It was practically an order! I did my part, and you’re all so _very_ welcome!”

“I’ll kill you,” Malfoy snarls, reaching for his wand.

“Too late, I’m afraid, to fill me with dread! Because, my dear Heads, you can’t kill what’s dead!” Peeves sings, swirling around the room like a twister. “Time to spread my work to all of Hogwarts!” He launches himself through the walls as if propelled by a slingshot, cackling all the while.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Hermione frets, digging her hands in her hair. She takes a deep breath in, and exhales. “We need to inform McGonagall and stop Peeves before he causes more chaos,” she declares firmly.

Malfoy grabs her by the elbow and tugs her towards the door. “We need to go to the infirmary to ensure that whatever we drank isn’t going to melt our organs.”

“Let go of me!” She wrenches her arm out of his grip, but he catches her hand and pulls her close to him. It’s a grave mistake. Somehow their fingers tangle together, her knuckles resting against his chest. His arm wraps around her back, anchoring her to him, and her other hand grips his bicep. She’s close enough to catch the faint scent of cologne and breathe the air he exhales. It fogs her brain until the only thought in her head is to get closer to him.

“We need to see Madam Pomfrey,” he murmurs running his hand up her spine to cradle the back of her head. She gasps, shivering at his touch. “There may be a way to reverse this.”

Losing this feeling is the last thing she wants. Instead, she says, “We need to warn the headmistress.”

He lets out a small, frustrated growl that vibrates through her body. “We go to the infirmary, and tell Pomfrey to send for McGonagall.” Malfoy bends his head closer to her, as if pulled by a gravitational force. “I can’t risk us like this.”

“Okay,” she agrees, staring longingly at his lips. Hermione tucks her head underneath his chin and hugs him tightly to avoid kissing him. “We should hurry, before we do something we can’t take back.”

**xxx**

Hours later, they return to their quarters in silence.

Madam Pomfrey had found nothing harmful, much to their relief. The only sign of Peeves’ mischief was in the nearly imperceptible brightness in their eyes that, in the right light, mirrored the distinct mother of pearl sheen of the Amortentia potion.

McGonagall, shaking with fury in her night robe, banned Peeves from concocting potions, to which the poltergeist begrudgingly agreed to with the Bloody Baron looming behind him.

“Do you have any of the potion left?” McGonagall had asked, hoping a sample could be used for a cure.

“No. I gave it all away. If you lift your ban, I could try to make it again,” Peeves offered with a toothy grin.

“He doesn’t know the recipe,” Hermione said. “It’s too risky. What if we drink a hate potion to counter the effects?”

Madam Pomfrey advised against it, warning that trying to counter the effects of an unknown potion would do more harm than good. “You both aren’t acting like the typical potion-struck victims. Still have good color in your complexion. Attentive and reasonable. I recommend waiting for the potion to cycle out of your systems. There’s no telling what counter measures might do to a botched potion’s effects”

“And as unfortunate as this has been,” McGonagall said, “it can be used to our advantage. What better way to promote healing than the two of you seen working together without past conflicts clouding the present?”

“They’ll suspect foul play, most likely from me,” Draco pointed out.

McGonagall fixed them with a stern glare and a command before sending them to bed. “Then be _convincing_.”

Now, standing near the crackling fire in their common room, Hermione feels numb to it all. She wants nothing more than to sleep on the sofa and wake up to find that the last four hours were just a strange dream. Instead, she’s in front of Malfoy, staring at their interlaced hands, fighting the impulse to pull him closer.

“How long do you think it’ll take for the potion to be out of our blood?” she asks quietly.

Malfoy sighs. “These types of things don’t last more than a day without being given more doses. Since we don’t know how much of the butterbeer was Peeves’ brew, I would say no more than a week to be conservative.”

It makes sense. “So we avoid each other for a week then?” The very thought twists something deep inside her.

“We need to be _convincing_,” he says, mimicking McGonagall’s tone.

Hermione laughs, surprised by how accurate it is. She looks at him, and finds him smiling at her, pleased as punch. “That was really good.”

“One of my many talents,” he preens.

He’s ridiculous, and she presses her face against his shoulder to muffle her giggles. She feels him lean his head against hers with a sigh that sounds more like relief than weariness. _This is dangerous_, she thinks, inhaling his wonderful cologne. They certainly aren’t acting like crazed, potion-addicted lovebirds, but these softer impulses make it feel real.

“We should go to bed,” she murmurs as she pulls away. “Let’s test this potion to see how well we fare when we limit contact.”

“If that’s what you want,” he agrees begrudgingly.

They’re both reluctant to part. Hermione is the first to let go, feeling his hand tighten on hers for a moment before allowing her fingertips slip away.

“Goodnight, Malfoy.”

“Goodnight, Granger.”

It is the most civil goodbye they’ve ever had. She turns around and heads up the stairs to her room, feeling his eyes on her back all the while.

**xxx**

“Hermione, are you alright?”

She looks up across the table to see several pairs of eyes on her.

“You’re pale and shaking,” a Fifth Year points out, gesturing to her trembling hand.

“Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey? I can go with you.” a Seventh Year prefect offers.

“There’s no need for that,” Hermione reassures with a smile. “Just a poor night’s sleep is all. I was planning for classes and the ball.” Over the shoulders of her housemates, she catches sight of a pair of solemn grey eyes trained on her.

It’s only been two days of separation, and she feels like she’s going insane. While they had all the same classes together as Eighth Years, they never allowed themselves to sit near one another. Their only interaction so far was leading the prefect meeting last night. She had been on edge ever since he broke their unspoken rule and ran a finger along her wrist when walking past her to his seat. She looked at everyone else but him in the room while they sat on opposite ends of the table. No one blinked at the tension between them. When Malfoy called the meeting to an end, she bolted out and rushed back to her bed, knowing he couldn’t climb the stairs leading to her room.

Hermione hates the potion and hates his lack of impulse control. But staring at him now and feeling the room around them fade away, she questions if her control is any better. Averting her gaze, she excuses herself from the table. The simple spread of chicken, rice, and apples did little to satisfy the hunger permeating her marrow. When she reaches the common room, she senses him right behind her.

Malfoy brings a hand to her lower back. “_Concordia_.”

The door swings open. She is in his arms and against the wall near the door before it swings shut, hiding them from prying eyes. Her hands cradle his jaw as he presses their foreheads together. They’re both breathing heavily, as if they ran up all the stairs in the castle and could now stop to take a rest.

“Separation is making it worse,” he groans. “I feel like I can finally think when I’m near you and can touch you.”

“This isn’t real, Malfoy.” Her hands tangle in his hair, and she closes her eyes to stop herself from looking at his lips. “We have to remember that this is the potion talking.”

“Then we are not responsible for our actions,” he says firmly, hands gripping her hips. “You don’t have to feel guilty. None of us is at fault.”

“Of course we are!” She finds the strength to push him away at arm's length, hands on his shoulders with her elbows locked in place. He whines at the distance. “No one is forcing us to act on these feelings.”

“You’re right. No one is forcing us to do anything. We’re the ones who want this. _I_ want you.” He lifts her hand up and kisses each of her fingers, making her knees quake. “And I know I’m undeserving, the worst choice you could possibly make, but I’m still asking.”

“It’s the potion,” she stresses even as her arms bend. He takes advantage and pulls her against him, burying his face in her hair. “W-we just need to last for three more days. It should be out of our systems by then Perhaps we can sweat it out? Like a fever?”

“Then let’s sweat it out together, Hermione,” he breathes against her ear, and the moan she lets out is obscene. How can it feel so good to hear him say her name? “I’ll go mad if I can’t have you now. I need you. _Please_.”

The hunger inside her snaps her restraint and she falls helplessly into its gnashing teeth. “_Yes_,” she pants against his neck, before rising up on her toes to kiss him desperately. “Yes, yes, yes.”

They trip up the stairs to his room, shedding their clothes along the way, and tumble together into bed.

They shake with every touch, trembling under the weight of their emotions. When he enters her, both letting out a rapturous cry, Hermione’s grasp on the reality of their situation slips through her fingers. Instead, she clutches to his shoulders as they move their sweat-soaked bodies in unison, conceding defeat in every mindless gasp of his name.

**xxx **

Hermione wakes up to find him watching her. There’s a brief moment of alarm that dissipates when he ducks his head close to peck her lips.

“Good morning,” he greets her, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning. How do you feel?”

“The same,” he replies honestly. “Happy to see you. Glad you’re still here.”

Logically, it isn’t what she wants to hear, to know that the potion is still in effect. She smiles nonetheless because his words make her heart flutter in her chest. “Me too.” Shifting closer to him, Hermione lays her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “What are we going to do?”

He stretches against her, muscles tensing for several seconds, before relaxing, running a hand along her bare side. “It’s the weekend. Let’s spend it together.”

“I meant about _us_.”

“I know. We’re going to talk and get on the same page. Spend time with me.”

“Okay.”

**xxx **

After showering together, at his insistence and she couldn’t say no to the hunger in his touch, they dress and grab a light breakfast from the great hall before returning to their common room. They clear the coffee table and set their plates there, sitting on the floor.

“Ask your questions, Granger,” he says, cutting into his eggs. “I can see them swirling in your head like storm clouds.”

“How are you so calm about all this? Do you not remember what were were like? It feels like I’m the only one fighting to maintain some semblance of normalcy, and you’re just along for the ride.”

He swallows his bite and sets his cutlery down. “Of course I remember. I know you’re a muggleborn and that I treated you poorly with prejudice for years. The potion didn’t alter my memories of you or of our relationship prior to this week. I see our history together perfectly clearly. But when I look at you now, I see someone brave and strong and admirable. You are everything I’m not, and I want to learn from you, be with you.”

She blinks at him. “That is...surprising.”

“My turn. Why do you feel the need to fight so hard against something that isn’t in your control?”

“Because it isn’t normal. We’re not supposed to be in love with each other.”

"So you’re admitting that you’re in love with me?” he smirks.

She tosses her napkin at him. “I’m saying that whatever we feel now can’t be trusted, you prat.”

“Because it may change come Monday? Feelings change as people change over time. If you don’t trust your feelings, you don’t trust yourself.”

“It doesn’t bother you to think that you’ll regret being with me when it finally wears off?”

“I regret what I’ve said to you over the years, and I do feel anxious that what we feel now will go away, but it’s only because I’ll miss you. I can’t fathom ever regretting you.”

“Who _are_ you?” Hermione asks incredulously.

“Draco Malfoy. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He holds out a hand to her.

She smacks his hand away. “Be serious!”

“Why are you so desperate for normalcy? For the time when we were at each other’s throats and we couldn’t stand the sight of each other? You miss me being cruel to you? Miss the stares and judgement? Shouldn’t this be the normal we want? The kind where we can move forward together, like what McGonagall preached to us? The one we’re trying to create now that the war is done?”

Hermione is speechless at the challenge in his words. He’s right. She knows he is. _But this is a false start_, she thinks. _It’s not genuine. It won’t last_. She swallows, trying to unstick her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth to tell him these things.

“I don’t want to be hurt.” She flushes, mortified, because that’s not what she means to say, not what she was even thinking of at all, but it’s the truth. To her horror, she feels the sting of tears well up in her eyes and spill down her face. He’s by her side instantly, wiping her tears away. “You’ve always hurt me. This is the first time you’ve made me happy, so I know it’ll only be worse when you hate me again.” He murmurs reassurances that he would never, could never again hate her, while stroking her hair.

She closes her eyes and pulls his hands off her. “You said feelings change. How can you make promises like that then and expect me to believe them?”

“Because I love you, Hermione.” He kisses her ardently, trying to erase the doubt in her heart. “I’m in love with you. Right here, right now. So please don’t cry anymore.”

She tastes the sincerity on his lips and the salt of her tears. Pulling away, she nods at him with a watery smile, wiping her tears on her robe sleeves. “When did you get so mature?”

“Same way you did. I survived a war.”

**xxx**

They wake up on Monday wrapped up in each other.

“Good morning,” Draco breathes against her cheekbone, kissing the delicate curve.

“Morning. How do you feel?”

“Still in love. You?”

“Still in love,” she smiles, and he kisses the apple of her cheek. “And I’m okay with it.”

“Hm. Ready for a morning romp before class?”

She laughs and pushes his face away before getting ready for breakfast.

Being with Draco Malfoy is a revelation.

As the weeks go by, Hermione discovers that he’s engaging, bright, and surprisingly _funny_. When they’re not sneaking touches or wringing moans from each other, they study for exams, direct prefects, and plan for the ball. She’s never felt more challenged, and supported, and happy. They’re careful to keep their relationship a secret, ensuring that they’re never caught in a compromising position. Should other students stumble across the Head Boy and Head Girl standing too close together in the great hall, Hermione is quick to point out that they’re working on a magic-saving charm to decorate the ceiling for the ball. If people stumble across them in a dark corner, hair slightly out of place and pupils dilated, Draco sneers that obviously they’re doing structural integrity checks for weak spots in the castle that includes getting in dark, cramped corners.

“What else do you think we’re getting into here?” he demands of students and professors alike. Everyone always mumbles an unintelligible excuse before shuffling away, embarrassed at even coming up with the ridiculously impossible thought of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

Later, in his bed, Hermione repeats his words back to him teasingly, tugging on his green and silver tie. “What could we possibly have been getting into?”

“At least you got off your knees in time,” he threw back, tugging her towards the edge of the bed. “That would’ve been difficult to explain.”

She hums, pushing down on his shoulders. “Speaking of _knees_.” Hermione moans as he slips his hands and tongue beneath her skirt and stays there until she convulses with pleasure.

**xxx **

They decide on a masquerade Halloween ball.

“It’s fun, blurs house lines, and is thematically appropriate for the holiday,” Hermione says.

“I’ve arranged for additional catering on the food and drinks end. No butterbeers or firewhiskey, Headmistress,” Draco assures. “There will only be pumpkin juice and punch. I’m sure everyone will appreciate the menu change.”

“And what of the decorations?” McGonagall asks.

“We’ve transfigured several hundred masks here for students to use,” Hermione points to several boxes in the corner of the room “and developed a charm that should provide great light illusions. The Weird Sisters agreed to perform for free. Everything’s ready, Headmistress.”

She glances at Draco before adding, “And as Head Boy and Girl, we will be attending together, as a show of the way forward.”

McGonagall eyes them both critically. “And what has Pomphrey said of your conditions?”

“We haven’t been back for a check up, but I’m sure it’s out of our bloodstreams now. It’s been nearly two months. But we have come to an understanding, so perhaps this mess was a blessing in disguise, just as you said.” Hermione says sincerely.

Underneath the table, Draco squeezes her knee as they fall under McGonagall’s scrutiny.

Eventually, she looks away. “Good idea and good planning, you two. I look forward to the event.”

**xxx **

The ball is a success.

Hermione and Draco share one perfunctory dance and then separate for the duration of the ball to ensure things run smoothly and no scuffles break out. With the masks, more people intermingle in groups and the nervous energy that permeated the air at the start of the event, gives way to excitement and laughter, especially with the surprise appearance of The Weird Sisters.

Now, with the event over and all of the students tucking into bed, only Hermione and Draco are left in the converted great hall, slowly undoing the last charms. Hermione doesn’t know she’s humming the last song melody until Draco twirls her into his arms and moves them into a slow dance.

“You’re beautiful.” he praises.

“You’ve told me,” she reminds him with a raised eyebrow. “I guess you only find me pretty when I have my hair done.”

“An oversight, I assure you. I find you enchanting every day. I’ll be sure to tell you this regularly going forward.”

"A side effect of the potion, I'm sure."

"Have you found your misplaced manners yet, Granger? Typically when one gives a compliment, it should be returned."

“I think you’re very handsome, despite that pointy chin of yours.”

He gives her a dry look. “I don’t think you understand how compliments work.”

“Of course I do. I’m also well-versed in back-handed ones too.”

They stay like this for a while, circling the room slowly, trading quips and kisses, until he lets out a yawn so wide she can hear his jaw crack. Feeling her eyelids start to droop, she suggests they finish cleaning up before heading to bed.

“Only if you join me,” he negotiates with a wink.

She rolls her eyes, not even bothering with a response. She can’t remember the last time she slept in her bed.

By the time they retire to bed, it’s after midnight. He unzips her dress, and rummages through his drawers for clothes she can wear to sleep. She sits on the bed, barely conscious as he slowly and gently removes her makeup with a wipe and takes out her hairpins. When he's finished, he brushes feather-light kisses across her face and whispers affectionately, "There's my girl." 

They crawl under the covers, safe in each other's arms, and she has never felt happier in her entire life. 

“Night, Draco.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

**xxx **

They wake up late.

She panics, thinking they missed a class and jumps out of bed.

“Classes were canceled, Granger,” Draco’s annoyed tone is muffled by his pillow.

“Oh. Right. That’s good.” She breathes a sigh of relief.

“Come back to bed before I drag you back.” He flings an arm out to her and wiggles his fingers.

She scoffs, but walks back until she steps on something sharp. “Ouch!” Rubbing the arch of her foot, she picks up a small crown badge. “What is this?” She flips it over.

_Weasley is our King!_

Ron. The air freezes in her lungs. _Ron_. Her _boyfriend_. How could she have forgotten him, after all this time?

“What’s wrong?” She looks up to see Draco propping himself up on his elbow, shirtless and looking at her with concern. “Did you stub your toe?”

Draco Malfoy. What was she doing? _Who was she? _

_A cheater_, a voice hisses in her head, filling her with shame.

“Hermione.” She looks up to see his alert grey eyes focused on her. “Come back to bed and tell me what’s wrong.”

“This is a mistake.”

“What is?”

“This!” She gestures wildly between them with the badge. “_Us_!”

“What are you holding?” He reaches over and takes it from her hand. “Where did this old thing come from? This is what's making you lose it?”

“Ron is my _boyfriend_.”

He scrunches his face. “No he’s not. I am.”

Hermione feels like her head is going to explode. “You can’t be my boyfriend because I never broke up with Ron!”

Draco sits up fully now, and he approaches her like she was on the verge of a breakdown. “I understand. It’ll be fine. Let’s get you a quill and some parchment paper, and you can deliver him a kindly-worded note informing him that he’s free to slum around the dirty watering holes he frequents for companionship. I’ll lend you my owl.”

“I’m not breaking up with Ron,” she says, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head.

His spine straightens, eyes wide with alarm. “And why not?” She sputters, grasping for words, as she watches his shoulders tense up. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“I don’t—are we even..?”

“What did you think this is?” he demands.

“Something we didn’t choose. Something out of our control.” She can see the hurt in his face, and she hates herself for being so stupid, so _careless_, so _torn_, because this is the last thing she wants. 

“Hermione, think clearly. You’ve been with me for weeks. Slept with me for weeks. You can’t expect me to believe you think it’s still the potion.”

“Why wouldn’t I? Who knows what Peeves put in it.”

“Because you, _brightest_ witch of our age, know that potion effects do not last this long.”

“We don’t know the dosage,” she points out frantically. “It could last until _Christmas_.”

“Why are you so afraid of the truth? Why are you so afraid to be with me?”

“Because it’s a fluke! We can’t trust this. It’s not real. We know this, Draco. We were never supposed to be together. I'm supposed to be with Ron. Before this accident happened, I was certain I was going to marry him. Ginny even dropped hints that Ron was saving for a ring.”

He clenches his jaw, muscles ticking from the pressure. “This is the only thing I know for certain. It’s the only real thing I have in my life right now.”

“That’s the potion talking.”

“Hermione. Don’t do this. Don’t choose him over me. You don’t love him like you love me.”

“But you don’t love me at all. You _can’t_.” Tears blur her vision and her through tightens with misery. “You hate me because I’m muggleborn.”

“I hate _myself_,” he says fiercely, yanking her into his arms and rubbing soothing circles on her back as she breaks down. “I hate how weak I was, how afraid I was of the Dark Lord. I hate how we have more bad memories between us than good, that this is preventing you from committing to me. But not you. I’ve never known love until you.”

“Stop it,” she begs, her tears dripping down his chest. She doesn’t want to hear this, not when she’s certain this is all wrong. She’s been living in the sweet high of the potion and this was the crash, the withdrawal, the end she never wanted.

“I want it all with you. I’ll do anything. Sign away my fortune. Take an Unbreakable Vow. Give up my magic. _Please_. Hermione. Believe in us. Let him go.”

“Be _reasonable_, Draco.”

“Be in love with _me_. _Choose me_.”

She kisses him hard to shut him up. With their emotions running wild, they fall together in a desperate tangle of limbs and nails trying to hold onto something that once felt so strong but now is so fragile. As he thrusts into her with deep, jarring strokes, he whispers his love into her skin.

Hermione doesn’t leave his bed all day. By the time night falls, they’re both shaking with exhaustion, and hypersensitive to the touch. She’s on her stomach, legs pressed together. His lays his body on top of her, buried deep inside, and flexes his hips against her in circular motions. They both sound like they’re dying, the pleasure so sharp it becomes painful. He feels so much bigger in this position, and her body is too weak to survive this.

“Hermione,” he whines, gathering her close to him as his rhythm breaks.

“Draco!” she cries out, voice cracking when his fingers strokes her between her legs. Her release unmakes her, obliterates every thought she has until she’s weightless and unburdened. When she returns to her senses, Hermione feels Draco pressing reverent kisses along her spine. He remains inside her, as if he can't stand not being connected to her in the face of her doubt. 

“It’s not the potion,” she admits quietly.

“What is it then?” he asks, nibbling at her ear. 

Her lips tremble. “It’s _us_. We fell in love.”

He turns her around, slipping out of her and leaving her bereft. “And?”

“This is real.” She stares into his bright wintry gaze, pupils blown wide with lust, with _ love_. “I’m in love with you.” Her voice cracks with emotion. "I don't want to be, but I am. I can't make it go away, no matter how much I wished to wake up one day and tell you I feel nothing at all."

“Then stay with me.” He pulls her into a kiss that consumes them. “Leave him.” 

She returns the kiss, tasting the tea he prefers and the faint traces of sweetness she vaguely thinks is butterbeer.

**xxx**

**End**


End file.
